


A Silent Longing

by lycanus1



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: ? unrequited feelings, Angst and Feels, Fluff, M/M, friends meddling for "the greater good"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanus1/pseuds/lycanus1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence is wonderful thing - unless it stops you from being with the one you yearn for and love ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brotherly Advice

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Despite my flights of fancy, sadly the boys aren't mine. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - more's the pity ... No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gawain gives a confused Scout some much needed advice.

It was a warm, late summer's evening and a lone, dark-haired man sat on a bench in the shade of the stables. Oblivious to the compound's numerous inhabitants who went about their business, he remained quietly engrossed in his work. Laid out at his side on the narrow oak bench were the tools of his trade, varying from several hunting and throwing knives to the elegant, yet deadly dao which he studied in silent reverence. The pale evening light danced along the oriental sword's long, thin, gleaming blade and he lightly ran the ball of his thumb across it to gauge its sharpness.

A slight movement distracted him and uncharacteristically, he placed too much pressure onto the lethal, slightly curved blade. Immediately, a scarlet bead broke through the calloused skin and with a faint smirk, Tristan raised the weeping digit to his mouth and delicately licked the blood away. Eventually, the handsome Aorsi looked up. His keen, intelligent, golden eyes stalked the cause of his mishap. He sighed softly and his noble brow furrowed with rare uncertainty.

The subject of his steady gaze was completely unaware of the intense scrutiny which was full of longing and hunger. Tristan sighed once more as he watched the tall, muscular Roxolani Healer tie up a powerful, jet-black warhorse to a post and calmly remove its saddle, before soothing the magnificent animal with soft-spoken words and firm, gentle hands.

Out of all of his fellow knights, Tristan mused, he'd always been closest to their Healer, Dagonet. For a solitary man, who preferred the company of his hawk and beautiful, grey destrier, the dark-haired, tattooed Aorsi rarely gave his trust to anyone. Yet ever since that fateful day - fifteen years ago - when the Romans had forced him into conscription, the seventeen year old Dagonet had taken Tristan under his wing and protected him. In doing so, he'd won the younger boy's unswerving loyalty and devotion. Over the years, nothing had changed and both men remained close and true to each other. Only now, with just a few months left before they would finally be given their release papers, Tristan had become increasingly aware of a definite change in his feelings towards his best friend.

The knights had become his family and like all siblings, they often argued, fought, trusted, relied upon and above all, loved each other. But now, in all honesty, what he was starting to feel for the scarred, shaven-headed warrior - who was his elder by three years - was new, intense ... and far from brotherly ...

Tristan sighed heavily, then wearily rubbed his nape before reaching for a fine, bone-handled throwing knife and carefully, began to whet its blade.

As he silently brooded, Gawain, a fellow knight and friend, strode out of the stable, bearing his battle axes and a large broadsword and quietly sat down on the bench. They both worked in companionable silence, completely at ease with each other's presence, whilst Tristan continued to covertly watch the Roxolani's every move from the corner of his hooded eyes.

For a big man, Dagonet moved with fluid, silent, wolf-like grace and despite himself, Tristan couldn't take his eyes off him. As it was a warm, sultry evening, the healer had already shrugged off his long, brown leather surcoat and tossed it on top of a nearby stone wall, before fetching a large pail of water to cool down his horse. It did not take long for a rust-coloured tunic to join the surcoat, revealing a hard, muscular torso glistening with perspiration.

By now, the Scout had given up all pretence of work and the hand which still held the throwing knife, fell limply between his parted thighs, as he gazed transfixed at the sheer masculine beauty of the rugged, gentle giant.

Truth be told, Tristan had always thought Dagonet a handsome man, despite the cruel scar that his friend firmly considered to be a stigma. In fact, rather than detracting from his appearance, it enhanced Dagonet's masculinity and gave the man an air of mystery and danger. But semi-clad in thick boots and brown leather breeches, that lovingly encased taut buttocks, lean hips, toned thighs and long legs, the Healer was truly a sight to behold. Like all of the knights, Dagonet's smooth skin bore the scars of battle; but the man's toned physique, broad shoulders, muscular arms, chest and flat stomach was sheer perfection in the Scout's eyes.

Spellbound by the sight in front of him and for once, with his guard down, Tristan gasped sharply, then licked his dry lips thoughtfully, as he uneasily shifted his weight on the bench.

On hearing Tristan's sudden intake of breath, Gawain looked up to study his companion and slowly followed the Scout's gaze which rested hungrily upon Dagonet as he briskly rubbed down the destrier. Tristan was riveted by the sleek muscles that slid easily beneath the older knight's taut, naked, golden skin. Slowly shaking his head in both wonder and amusement, the blond, shaggy-haired Halani leaned towards the Aorsi.

"Shut your mouth, man - you're drooling !" Gawain growled light-heartedly, his deep blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

Startled, having forgotten about his friend's presence, Tristan turned abruptly to face him, his lean, noble features swiftly masking his true feelings. Although Gawain had a reputation for being fun-loving and a bit of a prankster, there was something innately trustworthy about the man, that Tristan couldn't help but like him.

"You want him," the burly knight remarked astutely, pensively stroking his beard as he watched Dagonet tend the destrier. "Have you told Dag how you feel about him ? You know ... talking ? Opening that trap of yours ... ? Allowing intelligible sounds out, which aren't laced with sarcasm !"

Tristan shook his head in denial, his golden eyes wide and tinged with horror. "He doesn't know, Gawain ... Dag _can't_ find out about this. I mean it," he replied huskily, his face anguished. "Knowing how I truly feel would sicken him and I don’t wish to lose the friendship or respect of the one man I value the most in this gods-forsaken hole ... He's the one person who makes life bearable here ..."

It was ironic, the attractive, kindly Halani mused, that their handsome, bloodthirsty Scout had - if not fallen for - developed strong feelings for the one man all of the knights held in the highest regard and deepest affection. Dagonet was deeply loved for his kindly, gentle nature; for being both confidante and counsellor - their rock. He was respected and admired for his intelligence, considerable skill and aptitude for healing and for his honesty, loyalty and courage.

Tristan was going to discover just how hard caring for someone who was equally defensive, if not more guarded about his privacy, could be. Dagonet would not be an easy conquest ...

"You should tell him, Tris," Gawain said gruffly, "believe me, it'll eat you up inside if you don't. It will tear you apart ..."

Tristan shook his head furiously, causing the long hair to fall messily across his eyes. His skin was pale and the tattooed stripes stood out prominently on his high cheekbones, in stark contrast to the dark mane and neat, greying beard.

"I can't !" he hissed. "I won’t risk losing him ... I'd rather slit my own throat than lose his friendship," Tristan met Gawain's mild, steady gaze unwaveringly. "Dag's my guiding light in this hell and I'd rather have him as my friend, Gawain, than endure life without him ..." He turned away abruptly, fearing he'd revealed far more than he'd intended, when he saw the warm compassion on his friend's good-natured face.

"Do not pity me, Halani," he growled softly. " _NEVER_ pity me ..."

But it wasn't pity Gawain felt, but sadness and shock. Shock of seeing the reserved Aorsi with his guard down, displaying a vulnerability he never imagined possible.

"I don't pity you, Scout. I just want you to be happy. You're entitled to that as much as the next man and I mean to see you get it !"

The Scout gazed up at him once more and impatiently swept his hair away from his dull, unhappy eyes. He looked tired and bewildered.

"Do not meddle," Tristan warned wearily, "I know you mean well, friend, but ... but some things are best left well alone ..."

Gawain had always been a shrewd man and although the Scout bore a resolute expression, the younger knight did not believe him for an instant and a brief glance at Tristan's pale, miserable countenance told him that he wasn't the only one unconvinced by what had been said.

Shaking his fair head sadly, Gawain decided to back off for the time being. The Aorsi was a proud, headstrong man. One who seldom changed his mind once he'd come to a decision. Pushing Tristan into doing so, well ... would be sheer folly and Gawain was neither mad nor suicidal. An annoyed Scout could easily become an angry one and an incensed Tristan was both unpredictable _and_ extremely dangerous.

Resting a hand lightly on Tristan's left shoulder, Gawain grinned and rose to his feet. "Come, brother ... You need a distraction. Bors mentioned earlier that Vanora's made some goat stew and I know you haven't eaten anything since this morning, except for some apples. So, will you come ?"

Nodding wearily, the Aorsi grinned ruefully. Gracefully, he stood up, tucked the knives down the sides of his leather boots and at his low slung belt then reached for the dao. With one final, hungry, lingering look at the Roxolani, he turned and followed the tall, lion-maned Sarmatian to the tavern.

 _ **T.**_ **_B. C._**


	2. Two Heads Are Better Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where two well-meaning members of the brethren strike up a partnership and begin to meddle ...

"So ..." Bors began as he tried desperately not to spill the full pitcher of ale he held. He eased his stocky, muscular frame onto a rickety stool at the table where Gawain already sat, then poured himself a drink.

"So ... ?" Gawain countered with a slow, teasing grin. He shoved an empty goblet across the oak table's rough surface and watched the burly Roxolani sloppily fill it to the brim. It was obvious Bors had something on his mind as he paid no heed to the overflowing ale which trickled down his thick fingers. He sighed heavily and returned the vessel to the blond Halani.

With another deep sigh, Bors wearily rubbed the greying stubble that covered the back of his scalp, then slowly reached for his ale and drank deeply before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Gawain eyed him expectantly.

"It's that damn fool cousin of mine ..." he finally muttered. "Dunno what I'm going to do with him, Gawain. Dag's been acting odd these last few days ... Have you noticed anything different about him ?"

Gawain shrugged his impressive shoulders. "No more than usual, I'd say - maybe a little more quie- "

" _Quiet ?_ " Bors spat. "That's hardly news, is it ? Dag's _always_ bloody quiet !"

"We-ell, that wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that _you_ are his loudest kinsman ‘n’ he's too smart to compete with you, would it ?" Gawain grinned, unable to resist teasing the older, more outspoken man. "Come on, be fair, Bors. You're forever bellowing in his ear about something. Poor Dag's probably craving some peace ..."

Appalled, Bors glared at the attractive, fair-haired knight who sat opposite him, calmly rubbing his bearded chin and smirking.

"What in hell's name do you mean by that ? I _never_ bellow !" Bors roared, which had his fun-loving companion convulsing with laughter.

"Look, Gawain, can we go back to the matter in hand ? Hmm ... ? I'm at my wits' end with Dag. Daft sod's been moping around the place like a lovesick pup."

"Huh ! He's not the only one !" Gawain muttered into his goblet and was immediately horrified when he realized he'd revealed something he'd promised to keep secret. He groaned. "Er, maybe I shouldn't have said that- "

"Eh ? What was that ?"

The Halani looked sheepish and hurriedly mumbled, "Just forget I said anything, Bors- "

"Now, Gawain, you can't just come out with something like that ‘n’ suddenly shut your gob. Tell me !" Bors demanded. He looked very much like a starving dog avidly watching a juicy, meaty bone. "Who is it ?"

By now, Gawain was distinctly uncomfortable as it became apparent that the tenacious Roxolani wasn’t going to let the matter lie. Agitated, he ran a hand through his long, shaggy mane and groaned softly.

"Oh, gods ! I'm a dead man ... _He_ is going to bloody kill me." He risked a covert glance at the other man, who grinned wolfishly at him. "Damn ! I swore I wouldn't say anything ..."

The big man leaned forward across the table, his goblet clutched tightly in his right hand. "Gawain ! For mercy's sake, man ... stop pissing about and tell me !"

"Uh ... Tristan ..." Gawain reluctantly replied and immediately drained the contents of his goblet then swiftly refilled it.

"Really ? ‘N’ the lucky wench ?"

The blond shifted uncomfortably. "There is, uh, no wench ..."

" _WHAT ?_ " Bors spluttered, almost choking on the mouthful of ale he'd been about to swallow.

" _Hush !_ " Gawain hissed. His eyes darted to the opposite end of the tavern where he'd suddenly spotted his shield-mate, Galahad and the volatile, mercurial Scout pitting their knife throwing skills against a pair of slightly inebriated Roman soldiers. "Oh, hell ! That's all I need ..."

Bors followed Gawain's gaze and said bluntly, "Looks like you better tell me then, friend, _before_ they join us."

" _IF_ I tell you, Bors, you better swear on all that you hold dear, you'll keep it to yourself ..." the Halani doubtfully studied the vociferous knight, " _Swear_ ..."

Bors groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. "If it makes you happy - you have my oath, Halani. Now, spit it out !"

The blond inched forward to close the gap between them and said quietly, "It's Dagonet ... Tristan's besotted with him."

"Gods ! _Is that it ?_ " To Gawain's astonishment, Bors grinned and began to laugh heartily. His eyes danced merrily, clearly amused by the younger man's discomfort. "I knew our Scout had developed feelings for someone lately, but ... but I never imagined for a moment that ..." he chuckled once more, "that that someone would be my cousin ..."

"Well, now you know ‘n’ if you breathe a word about this, Bors, so help me, I'll kill you ..." Gawain stated with quiet intent, as he watched Tristan's throwing knife skilfully become embedded in the hilt of Galahad's dagger.

"Does our Dag know ?"

The Halani shook his head. "The stubborn fool doesn't want him to know."

"Daft bugger," Bors remarked affectionately. "Listen, I freely admit there are times when that damn fool Aorsi can be a right pain in the arse ‘n’ sometimes he _really_ pisses me off ..." Bors paused and looked pensive. "Tristan's sarcastic, bloody-minded, vindictive ‘n’ a cold, bastard. Yet despite his faults – ‘n’ there are many - I _am_ fond of him. I believe he's a good’n’ honourable man ‘n’ under that icy, callous front of his there lies a warm, kind heart - you only have to see him with those beasts of his to know that. He's proved his loyalty to us without question or doubt over the past fifteen years ‘n’ I'd trust him with my life ..."

Gawain could only nod in agreement. Everything his friend had said about the Scout rang true.

"And," the big knight continued, "the little bugger's been a good friend to Dag, from the moment they met. For the life of me, how the pair of them got to be so close, when neither of them seem to talk, I'll never know." Baffled, Bors slowly shook his head. Gawain merely grinned. He'd always found how Tristan and Dagonet's friendship seemed to leave the older Roxolani bewildered, very amusing.

"Oh, they're a talkative pair alright," he agreed with a gentle smile. "It's hard to believe how anyone can get a word in with those two !"

Gawain looked up and noticed Dagonet leaning silently against a wooden post, a goblet in his hand. The tall, scarred, broad-shouldered warrior was oblivious to everyone around him and only had eyes for one person in the tavern. A wistful longing and fascination could be seen on his ruggedly attractive face, as he calmly studied a certain individual.

Realization dawned upon the Halani as he became aware of the identity of the person who had totally captivated the shy, reserved Roxolani Healer.

"Bors ?" Gawain stated mildly, his deep blue eyes twinkling. "I believe I know who's responsible for your cousin's lovesick moping ..." He calmly indicated the culprit to his stunned companion.

"You've got to be kidding, Gawain. Surely that can't be right ? Not - ?" To Bors' astonishment, what seemed to be a blushing Scout was smiling gently at Dagonet, his striking golden eyes full of warmth, yearning and affection. A quick glance at his cousin - who'd briefly averted his gaze before shyly meeting Tristan's once again - told Bors and Gawain, more than words could convey. Dagonet's silver eyes mirrored the same sentiments as the Scout's, even though the pair of them seemed completely unaware that this was the case.

"Well, bugger me !" Bors exhaled softly, clearly bemused by his new-found discovery.

"Not if I can help it, friend. Even if I were desperate to lie with someone - _you_ have no chance ..." Gawain sipped his ale thoughtfully, his quip earning him another hurt glare from Bors.

"Those two clearly need a gentle shove in the right direction," the older Sarmatian stated gruffly. "They'll both end up lonely ‘n’ miserable _if_ they can't or won't talk to each other about their feelings."

Gawain's eyes sparkled with mischief and good intent as he realized he'd just unwittingly found an ally to aid him in his plans to secure the Scout's happiness. It appeared that Bors too, had no qualms when it came to meddling, if it meant his beloved cousin obtained his heart's desire .

"I suppose you'll be needing help then ?" he murmured casually, trying not to smile and failing miserably. "After all, Bors, they do say two heads are better than one ..."

 _ **T.**_ **_B. C._**

 


	3. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bors finally succeeds by devious means to get the Healer and the Scout to talk, albeit reluctantly ....

**_The following evening:_ **

"When I get out of here, I'm going to bloody kill him ..." the tall, scarred knight muttered, as he paced agitatedly across the stable floor.

To put it mildly, Dagonet, uncharacteristically, was fuming. Normally a very placid, gentle-natured soul - except when in battle and consumed by bloodlust - he was known for his composure and that he rarely, if ever, lost his temper. But now he was building up a head of steam and the cause of his anger ? His meddling cousin, Bors ...

Earlier that evening, Gawain had sought him out. The Halani had merely said that Bors was at the stables and wished to see him. The fun-loving blond had been fairly vague about the details, and had mentioned something about "a lame horse" and "wanting a second opinion."

That was how the mild-mannered Healer ended up in his current predicament. Never one who liked to see any unnecessary suffering, whether to man or beast, Dagonet had gone to the stables, thinking it wouldn't be fair to the animal to cope with lameness and his hefty cousin's bulk. Once he'd ascertained the black gelding had seemingly pulled a muscle, he advised Bors to rest the destrier for a few days, before turning to leave for his quarters.

It was then Bors had left him stunned and frozen in his tracks.

"Why haven't you said anything yet ?" the older man had asked quietly, as he ran a big hand gently across the horse's sleek withers.

Dagonet had met his cousin's gaze with guarded grey eyes and replied hesitantly, "Said what ? To who ?"

"Oh, come, come, cousin ..." Bors had simply raised an eyebrow and calmly studied the younger knight, who was becoming increasingly flustered beneath the constant scrutiny. "Thought you would have spoken to the person that's the cause of this affliction of yours by now."

"M-My affliction ?"

Bors sighed heavily, "Your lovesickness- "

"My _WHAT_ ?" To say Dagonet looked horror-struck would have been an understatement.

His shocked denial, had Bors sadly shaking his head and unusually, he replied patiently and calmly, as if he were talking to one of his little bastards, "Da-ag, why are you doing this to yourself ? Why do you deny your feelings when it's so obvious that you care for him ?"

"I ... uh, I'm not- " Dagonet began, only for Bors to groan in pure frustration.

"For the love of gods, Dag ! I've seen how you look at Tristan when you think he's not looking. You want him as much as he wants yo- "

Dagonet stared miserably at his feet and whispered brokenly, "That's not true, Bors. Tris doesn't see me that way. He doesn't want m- "

Bors glared at him then rolled his eyes. "Are you blind, cousin ? I may be stupid ‘n’ ignorant at times, but _I_ 've noticed how our Scout watches you lately. It's with hunger ... ‘n’ it's not the kind of look he gives a large bag of apples either ! That Aorsi covets you ... wants you. He cares for you, Dag !"

There was an awkward pause. Then suddenly, the pair of them heard a gentle thud come from the vicinity of the loft. Dagonet immediately glanced upwards, his toned body full of tension.

"It's nothing," Bors muttered hurriedly, surreptitiously edging his way towards the stable door, as Dagonet suspiciously glared at the loft. "Probably just another of those damn stable cats. Bloody things are taking over the place, just like the damn Romans !"

Seeing the Healer preoccupied, Bors grinned and silently slipped through the door, which Dagonet had previously left ajar. "I mean it, Dag," he said, "even if you won't admit it to yourself, you owe it to Tristan. He deserves to know how you truly feel about him ... That _you_ love him, or I should say, that you're _in_ love with him ..."

And before Dagonet realized what had happened, a chuckling Bors had swiftly locked him inside the stables.

"Damn it, Bors ! ... Open the bloody door, you daft git ! Let me out - _NOW_ !" he roared in increasing frustration and annoyance, only to hear his cousin walk away, _still_ laughing.

Five minutes later, it was clear Bors had absolutely no intention of returning to let him out. Dagonet paced angrily and kicked a pail - hard - across the stone floor until it crashed into a nearby wall and splintered into pieces.

"Bastard !" he muttered furiously. "Bloody bastard ... Just wait until I get my hands on him. I'm going to string him up, rip his bloody balls off ‘n’ force-feed them to him ..."

"Sounds painful ..." a quietly amused and very familiar voice remarked behind him.

The hairs on the back of Dagonet's neck stood on end. Without thinking, the tall Roxolani spun around and froze. Shock made the colour rapidly drain from his face, leaving him looking ashen and haggard.

There, standing in front of him, as clear as day, was the subject of Bors' earlier conversation. Tristan.

To the Healer's acute discomfort and embarrassment, he became increasingly aware that the Scout had been in the stable the whole time and had, most likely, overheard Bors giving him advice on his lovelife, or lack of one. Completely mortified, Dagonet shifted uneasily and found himself unable to meet Tristan's mild, curious gaze.

"It's no more than Bors deserves," Dagonet finally mumbled, his silver eyes stormy and ominous. "If he thinks I'm daft enough to let him get away with this ..." he paused then somehow found the courage to look at his friend. "I ... I take it you heard everything ?"

The Scout leisurely unsheathed a fine, bone-handled throwing knife from his belt and calmly used it to clean under his nails. He silently nodded, whilst studying the Healer through a dark mass of tousled hair. Tristan's lean, noble face was impassive as usual, yet his sharp golden eyes flickered with an emotion Dagonet hadn't seen before in them.

"Couldn't really miss hearing it," the Aorsi huskily confessed. "Bors isn't known for being quiet or discreet, is he ?"

"Huh ! Bors isn't usually so perceptive either," Dagonet reluctantly replied as he wearily rubbed his nape. "He's too busy being loud, obnoxious ‘n’ annoying most of the time ..."

Somehow, without Dagonet noticing it, Tristan had closed the gap between them and was almost within touching distance.

"I fear your cousin's too old to change his ways, my friend," he remarked idly as he wiped the knife clean and returned it to its sheath, before glancing at the tall Sarmatian in front of him. "So, what Bors said earlier ... ?"

"Bors said a lot earlier," Dagonet seemed nervous, " _far_ too much ..."

Tristan sighed, then shifted his weight onto one hip and tilted his head. He appeared thoughtful. Then, having suddenly come to a decision, quietly asked, "Was there any truth in what Bors said ? About how you feel about me, Dag ?”

The Roxolani immediately looked vulnerable and exposed. He hadn’t expected the Scout to ask him outright about his feelings and it left him feeling hunted and unsure of himself. He bit his lip and looked away, a slight flush of colour stained his cheekbones. Both shyness and insecurity made him want to flee from the object of his affections. Matters weren’t helped when the handsome Aorsi further invaded his personal space, watching him closely with what suspiciously appeared to be hope in his glittering golden eyes. Tristan reached out a hand and lightly grazed its knuckles over the cruel scar which marred the left side of Dagonet’s attractive face.

The big man’s breath hitched and he suddenly lost what tenuous hold he had on his composure. Abruptly, he turned away and was barely able to suppress the tremor of longing and need that racked his powerful physique.

“Uh, don’t … please Tristan,” his anguished plea a broken whisper. “If you care at all about our friendship, or me, I beg you … don’t … Don’t play games with me …”

_**T.**_ **_B. C._**

 


	4. Playing Games ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lonely Dagonet's convinced he's being toyed with. How can a certain enigmatic Scout persuade the shy Healer that his feelings are genuine ?

Walking slowly back towards the pallet, the Aorsi leisurely unfastened the long, suede tunic and shrugged it off his broad shoulders to reveal what was once a white undershirt that flowed becomingly over a lean, sinewy torso. That too, was hastily tugged over his head, tousling the wild, braided, dark mane of hair.

The Healer watched the Scout's silent approach appreciatively; clad only in tan, suede breeches, slung low on lean hips, which clung lovingly to his toned, muscular lower body. Feeling wary, Dagonet sat perfectly still, mesmerized by the sheer power, vitality, silent grace and beauty of the man.

And Tristan _was_ handsome, of that Dagonet was in no doubt, despite the numerous faint, silvery scars which marred the perfection of his sleek, athletic frame. Half-naked and closing in on him with a wolfish grin on his lean, attractive face, Tristan was the most strikingly beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"Who said anything about playing ?" Tristan growled softly, as he knelt between Dagonet's leather-clad, muscular thighs, amber eyes gleaming predatorily and with meaningful intent. "I've _never_ been more serious about anyone ..."

Dagonet swallowed hard and absently ran the tip of his tongue over his dry lips. The small, innocently made gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the eagle-eyed Scout who knowingly arched an eyebrow, before leaning towards the tall, well-built Roxolani to gently nuzzle his throat.

A low husky moan escaped Dagonet's lips and he threw back his shaven head, as his torso arched instinctively towards Tristan's. He vaguely became aware of a light breeze against his flesh and of a hand roaming freely beneath his rust coloured tunic, with gentle possessiveness over smooth, firm, bare skin. Dagonet froze.

Tristan's feather-light caresses made his taut abdominal muscles tremble and he felt the younger knight's lips curve into a rare, gentle smile against the vicious scar that trailed down the left side of his rugged countenance.

"You can breathe, y'know, Dag," Tristan teased gently, his neatly trimmed beard lightly scraping the Healer's skin as his breath ghosted Dagonet's stubbled jaw. The Scout's left hand warmly rested upon Dagonet's upper right thigh, its thumb idly making small circular patterns against the Roxolani's inside leg.

The shy Sarmatian giant inhaled sharply, closed his tempestuous silver eyes and immediately trapped the hand that was causing such sweet havoc to his senses, firmly beneath his own.

Tristan raised his head and gazed steadily at him through a shock of hair; his desire for Dagonet all too shockingly apparent in his striking golden eyes. Eyes that were usually coldly observant and which never revealed his emotions.

"I swear to you, my friend, by the gods, I'm not playing with you," he rasped, his gruff voice sincere as he tenderly laid his palm against the older warrior's scarred cheek. "I’d _never_ do that to you ..." 

The Healer felt his heartbeat rapidly accelerate and his blood rush through his veins. A white heat began to burn fiercely within his loins as he slowly absorbed the sincerity of Tristan's words. With a trembling hand, Dagonet cradled the handsome Aorsi's head, his fingers becoming entangled in the dark mass of shoulder-length hair.

Forgetting everything, he could only think of the enigma that was finally in his arms. The man he'd silently yearned for over the past fifteen years. His Scout. His Tristan ...

**FINIS**

 


End file.
